


Heartbeat

by orphan_account



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of PTSD symptoms (kind of), Nightmares, mentions of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stench of cigarette smoke through the window of their bedroom wakes Connor in the night, triggering nightmares. Oliver comforts him, prompting Connor to appreciate how much he loves Oliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this just now - it's 2am, I had an idea, let's just hope it's coherent. This fic could be pretty triggering for some people - I've tried to tag all triggers, but please let me know if there's any more. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Unbeta'd)

Sometimes, it was sirens that set Connor off. Or sometimes, the triggers came in the form of brief memories, glimpses of that night in the forest that only visit for a few seconds but leave him gasping and shaking.

This time it was the familiar smell of smoke. For minutes, Connor lay there - in bed, curled in Oliver's arms - the acrid stench encompassing him and filling his nostrils. His eyes started to flinch, even as they were closed. Once again - just like it had done countless times before - his mind became slave to the traumatising memories of the night he witnessed a murder.

As the cloying smoke swarmed, smothering him, the memories piercing his brain and sharpening his breaths. It was unclear when his eyes opened and shut - all he could envision was a blue-tinged forest, punctured by a fierce flame, swallowing the remains of a man.

Connor's eyes opened finally and he sat up.

Still with heavy, clinging breaths, he rubbed his eyes with a harsh palm to rid of the images that had woken him. He tried, relentlessly, but no amount of physical effort could chase away the horrors etched into his subconscious. He couldn't escape that night. It hung from him, an unappeasable deadweight, echoing his every breath and word with a morbid reminder of what he'd been a part of, what he'd done.

It was only now that he realised he hadn't woken to a dense cloud of smoke, with a putrid smell like that of a burning body, a smell he wished he could carve out of his memory. He realised that it was the layer of cold sweat making his skin clammy and humid, instead of the thickset smoke. The smell derived from the window; he could hear the faint conversation of people outside. Smokers. There were people outside, smoking, letting their smoke float freely through the bedroom's open window. 

If he hadn't felt so hollow and desperately terrified, he might've yelled at them to go away, or at least shut the window. Instead, he gave in to the ache in his chest, and fell into the same despondent mantra that always followed when he awoke from a nightmare.

"Ollie. Oliver, I --"

But Oliver was already there, with strong and sure arms, ready for Connor to collapse into. So that's what he did.

Connor folded quietly into his lover's waiting embrace, ribcage shaking with a pounding heart and eyes stinging with fresh tears. His throat felt like it was closing in on itself, giving up and cutting off any cry for help, giving up on Connor. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

Then Oliver spoke.

"Nightmare?" Connor could barely calm the uncontrollable tremors of his body long enough to nod, but he tried. He knew his voice would shatter if he opened his mouth. It didn't matter; Oliver understood. He never failed to.

"It's okay. It's okay, I'm here. I've got you," Oliver whispered to the cigarette-smoke filled darkness, to the pale orange streetlamp light filtering through the blinds, to Connor. 

Just like Connor, he'd been through this same routine thousands of times, each one scarring and painful. He'd repeated the same reassuring words, over and over, in that soft voice of his. Connor found himself wondering if Oliver knew how gentle, how resonating his voice was. How soothing. Even if Oliver didn't know, Connor knew, that it was never the words that calmed Connor - it was Oliver's voice.

Since the night Oliver had found his way into Connor's life and made it unimaginably better, Oliver has always had this effect on him. It was something about the tone of his words, the soft curves of his smile, the timid but endlessly compassionate attitude he never failed to treat people with. There was something about Oliver that brought Connor's reckless mind to peace, something that finally gave Connor rest, no matter where or when.

Nights like this, when Connor woke in a frenetic trance, was when this effect was the strongest. It didn't matter how worked up Connor got; Oliver was always there to match him, always finding a way to talk him down. 

When Connor sat - as he was now - feeling like his blood was rushing too fast and his heart would implode, Oliver sat with him - all mollifying tones and warm holds - saving Connor from the storms and thunder of his mind and awakening a serene calmness instead.

Connor's breaths began to even out, becoming a steady rhythm to match Oliver's. The way he sat, surrounded by Oliver, allowed him to place his head on his boyfriend's chest and hear the steady pulse there. The unwavering, constant heartbeat that synced to Connor's and slowed his own.

In the feeble light, Oliver's face was hardly visible, but Connor didn't need to see him to be reassured. His mind slipped into a comforting string of mental images; Oliver laughing at an offhand joke Connor made, Oliver's half-lidded, lazy expression that predicted sleep, Oliver's slightly tense look of concentration that always took over his face when he was focused on a computer. Connor allowed these thoughts to envelope him. He let his mind roam free, uninhibited, with memories of Oliver.

Oliver, who was stroking a hand through Connor's hair, ever-so-lightly. He was humming; a mellow tune, one that drew an old memory from the depths of Connor's mind. 

He recognised it then - it was the song Oliver's mother had sung quietly to herself when Connor had first met her. Oliver had taken him to meet his parents on the second Christmas they celebrated together, and his mother had been singing that song when she'd arranged the flowers they'd brought her in a vase. The words had been in Tagalog - unrecognisable to Connor, yet still beautiful in a humble way. 

Connor smiled. Of course he wasn't sure, but that song was likely one from Oliver's childhood. In Oliver's mind, it was probably a remedy to absolve stress and alleviate sadness. And Oliver was humming it to him. It occurred to Connor that it was probably just as harsh on Oliver when Connor woke with nightmares; he was likely comforting himself as well as Connor.

Slowly, Connor found Oliver's hand and threaded their fingers together. His other hand remained tangled in Oliver's shirt. He'd grabbed it when Oliver had started comforting him, and was still reluctant to let go. Even though, Connor knew, Oliver would never leave. Steady, unwavering, constant. Like a heartbeat.

Oliver placed a small kiss to Connor's chilled forehead, still humming. Gently, they shifted to lay down, still holding each other with the grasp of a couple destined to not see the next day.

As Connor's thoughts slowed to a lull, he once again found himself thinking of Oliver's voice. The humming had stopped, Oliver too tired to carry on, but the tune remained in Connor's head. It had a subtle rhythm - he now recalled; an even beat. _Just like Oliver's heart. Just like Oliver_ , thought Connor sleepily.

He concluded, just before he settled into a restful sleep, he'd get Oliver to teach him the song one day - soon. Maybe he might even be able to comprehend the meaning of some of the words. If that song had a place in Oliver's heart near comfort and home, then it was surely Connor's obligation to learn it, so that he can sing it for Oliver, when needed. 

Connor drifted to sleep like that; head brimming with peaceful thoughts, heart overflowing with love and appreciation for Oliver - his steady, unwavering, constant heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: makers-manhattan


End file.
